


little dove

by munstah



Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1960)
Genre: Alabama - 1830s, Antebellum South, F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munstah/pseuds/munstah
Summary: TAGS WILL BE ADDED AS STORY PROGRESSES.The Liddell estate has grown quiet after the eldest daughters are married off to their suitors. The youngest, Birdie, is a fifteen year old brat with no intentions of following in her sisters’ footsteps.She is more than content with her life until two men arrive at her family’s plantation; one claims to be the Duke of Bridgewater, and the other claims to be Louis-Charles, the Lost Dauphin (“the rightful King of France!”).If Birdie knows anything, it is that she does not want to be courted, and that Louis-Charles — or whatever his real name is — is not her great-great-uncle.





	1. The Two Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most obscure fanfic I’ve written in a while. This idea is a product of watching ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’ (1960) one too many times.
> 
> Please mind the tags, which will be updated with each chapter. Nothing written in this story is opinion-based.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> * (05/17/19) I changed Birdie’s mother’s name from Maria to Marietta.
> 
> * (10/08/19) Minor detail/grammar/etc. changes. May or may not require reread.

The Liddell Estate was anything but quaint. Bought and constructed by Lord Liddell’s grandparents in 1782, and finished in 1785, it was a staple of the state. Each and every Alabaman – and even some Mississippians – knew of the marvel. 

The entire plantation was a perfect square, divided into four segments. Its cotton field occupied three — the top-left sector, the top-right sector, and bottom-right sector. Said to be the largest in all of Alabama, the field stretched across two thousand acres. A mammoth of a cotton gin occupied a great deal of the field, and cleaned over sixty pounds of lint a day. Within the depths of cotton was a grange for the livestock, as well as living spaces for the one hundred slaves. 

The bottom-left sector was populated by the garden, belonging to Lady Liddell. Flowers from around the world populated the massive maze of greenery. Thousands were wedding endowments, as well as donations from the local florist and gifts from visiting royalties. It was said that only a small few were allowed inside the garden on account of Lady Liddell’s overprotectiveness.

In the center of the plot, a grand three-story manor sat. Stone pillars were seemingly guarding the enormous windows and front sitting area. It was a spectacle of architecture, in both exterior and interior. Sweeping staircases, intricate designs etched into the plaster of the walls and ceilings, velvet curtains that reached six yards long, floorboards made of Peltogyne wood, and several more extravagant adornments filled the seventeen rooms. 

The lineage of the Liddell family was almost as famous as their estate. Marietta, the wife of Oswald, was the closest living relative to the late Marie Antoinette, the final Queen of France – hence the great amount of wealth and land, and an equally opulent husband. Her royal bloodline also granted her a social circle that included the county’s prominent selectmen and women, and a lovely collection of daughters. 

And yet, four of the five sisters – Marie, Annabelle, Pearl, and Tallulah – were no longer residents of the manor, for they were all wed to their suitors and lived on their own properties. Their absence left their childhood home quiet to some degree, with the exception of their youngest sibling, Birdie.

She had been described best by Grandmother Maria as a “wet hen with too much gumption” on her thirteenth birthday. Birdie had thrown a fit for the festivities starting too early for her liking, which caused the seventy year old woman to snatch the brat by the ear and give her a piece of her mind. Despite bringing Birdie to more ruddy tears, this display hadn’t stopped the young girl’s behavior. 

Now, at fifteen, Birdie was seen by the eyes of society as a woman who was ready to do womanly things like gossip over bitter tea and knit pantaloons. The harrowing fact that she would soon have to endure countless suitors agitated her. She didn’t want to be married off to someone she barely knew, or live in a humble one-story townhouse, or die for the sake of producing an heir. 

No, Birdie much preferred her life as it currently was. She had no worries or ambition, as she was expected to simply remain in the home and act like a proper lady of the South. Since her schooling was at a standstill because of the summer heat, she enjoyed the freedom she was allowed so little of. A whole day could be spent gazing at the endless arrangement of plants in her mother’s garden or pestering the hardworking servants. It was harmless monotony, but it was what Birdie knew best.

 

Then came the day when her mother suggested that she take piano lessons to pass the time. It was while they lounged beside one another in the sunroom, their afternoon lemonade and sandwiches long forgotten. “Weren’t you complaining recently about having nothing to do? This could be your much-needed avocation,” Marietta said. “Knowing how to play such an instrument can be a very fulfilling facet.”

Birdie scoffed, “I refuse!” 

“But how come, mon chéri?”

“Because I would rather spend my days staring out the window before partaking in such a childish activity. Because piano lessons are for youngin’s, not grown-ups. Because I simply refuse!” she said, raising her chin in defiance.

Marietta visibly shrunk beneath her daughter’s harsh words, but she pushed, “I’d hate to see the piano in the great hall go to waste. It was a gift from your father’s aunt before she passed. She would have loved to see you play.”

“If you’re so concerned with it withering away then why don’t you take lessons?”

“Well, how about we take lessons together? That way, we could learn—“

With a huff, Birdie made to rise from the couch. She found it foolish of her mother, at her ghastly age, to want to try to learn something so trivial as the piano alongside her youngest child. The thought itself was embarrassing enough to make her skin crawl. Next, she’d be asking to have a heart-to-heart with the slaves in the top-right sector, for goodness sake.

She crossed the large foyer and moved towards the main stairway. Hearing Marietta trail behind her in an attempt to extract more of a conversation, she climbed up the angled steps. She didn’t falter when a maid by the name of Dinah announced that there were two men at the door.

“Did they say who they were, Dinah?” her mother asked.

The maid shook her head and replied, “No, Lady Liddell. All they says was that they needed to speak with you an’ Lord Liddell.”

At the sound of his name, Oswald appeared from around the corner. His fingers were dripping with wet ink, having been engrossed in something in his study. He removed his half-moon spectacles and inquired, “Who needs to speak with me?”

“Two men outside,” Marietta provided.

“Well, let them in, Dinah. No use in letting them melt in the heat out there.”

“Yes, Lord Liddell.”

Birdie, curious to see who her parents’ visitors were, found herself crouching on the stairway. She was taken aback by the sight of two rather haggard-looking strangers entering the manor. They were both practically dressed in rags and caked in dirt and sweat. The first man was big in stature and girth, and wore a vacuous expression as he fumbled with the bags in his grasp. The second man was thin but not gangly, and carried himself like most of the aristocrats she saw at Marietta’s soirées. 

“Lady Marietta Liddell, I presume?” the second man spoke. His voice was much more regal than his appearance. He lifted the brim of his top hat and made a swooping bow at the waist before Birdie’s mother, who looked dumbfounded.

“Ah, yes, I am. I am Lady Marietta Liddell. And this is my husband, Lord Oswald Liddell,” she introduced mechanically.

The second man grasped her mother’s hand between his two as his face split into a wide smile, “Oh, Marietta! I’m ever so delighted to meet you at last!”

Before the second man could fully embrace her, Oswald interjected, “I’m sorry, but who exactly are you gentlemen? How do you know my wife?”

“Oh! How careless of me. I have overlooked the tale of my whereabouts – a tale that has been spread throughout the countries. I am Louis XVII, son of former King Louis XVI of France and Queen Marie Antoinette,” the second man explained. “I am here with my loyal friend, Regulus, the Duke of Bilge– Ahem, Bridgewater—” he nodded to the wide man beside him “—to finally meet my estranged great-niece, Marietta.”

“How d’yuh do,” Regulus grumbled.

Oswald and Marietta exchanged looks of complete surprise. It took a minute for the words to successfully sink in before her mother stammered, “But Louis-Charles died years ago. From an illness, I was told. How could you possibly be hi—?”

“My dear Marietta, have you not heard of the horrible legend that is the Lost Dauphin? Well, as you can see, it is not a legend. It is merely the truth. Why, I’d be loungin’ on the throne as we speak had it not been for the upstart Corsican, who snaked me out of my own title.”

Still, Birdie’s father seemed to have little faith in the man’s story. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was twisted in doubt. “Well, you don’t look like a royal. Or talk like one too,” Oswald observed. “How can we be sure that you two aren’t a couple a’ grifters?”

While Regulus began to anxiously chew on his lower lip, Louis-Charles paused and collected himself. “I understand and respect your skepticism, Lord Liddell. I would ask the same of someone who suddenly emerged in my foyer, speaking the things I speak. An’ I am more than happy to offer you proof of my claims,” he grinned. He proceeded to dig through the insides of his torn coat.

Once he found what he was looking for, he produced an emerald rivière from his pocket. The jewels nestled within the chain glittered in the light. It was indeed a beautiful piece of familiar French craftsmanship. “This is the sole heirloom I possess from my mother, Marie Antoinette herself. It was a rivière she favored above all the rest,” he bragged. “Now, Marietta, seeing as you are the only other living relative of Queen Antoinette, I’m sure you recognize this?”

Meanwhile, sitting at the steps, Birdie was genuinely astonished by his ability to turn the tables on her unsuspecting mother. She saw that there was a sort of cleverness in the man that could be deemed dangerous if in the wrong situation. This was a man who could talk himself out of jail time with Sheriff Cunningham, or death with the Grim Reaper.

Marietta was an intelligent woman for her day and age, but she did not like to be proven wrong. She gaped at the dangling rivière. Then she balked, “Why, of course, I recognize it! Ma mère – may God bless her soul – spoke of it often. Even showed me portraits of Queen Antoinette wearing it.”

A satisfied smile crept onto Louis-Charles’ lips, “Then you are convinced that I am your dear great-uncle?”

“Oh, how could I have doubted you? I’m so ashamed!” Marietta exclaimed. With that, she threw her arms around his shoulders and clutched him tightly. 

Louis-Charles gave a hearty laugh, seemingly relishing in the attention he was presented, and returned the hug. “Oh, Marietta! You have no idea how I’ve longed to see you,” he crooned.

Once his wife released her great-uncle at last, the man of the household took a gentle step forward, and shook both of the men’s hands. “Welcome, Louis-Charles. Welcome, Regulus. But I do believe an apology is in order—“

“Nonsense, nonsense! No such apologies are required. You were only doing what you thought was right, Lord Liddell,” said Louis-Charles. He kept his hands clasped around Marietta’s in a polite indication of endearment while he spoke. “I believe I heard from the grapevine that you two have quite the family here. Is it four beautiful daughters?”

“Five. But alas, the four oldest are no longer live with us. You see, they’re all married,” Oswald clarified. “But our youngest, Birdie, is still here. Would you like to meet her?”

At the mention of her name, Birdie jumped and rushed up the rest of the steps. Evidently, she had more of a brain than both of her parents combined, and she had enough sense to avoid the pair of jackanapes. Being introduced to them was entirely out of the question.

“We would simply love to meet her. Wouldn’t we, Regulus?”

“Uh-huh! I mean– yes, we sure would.”

“Excellent.” Oswald turned on his heel to face the stairway, and zeroed in on his daughter attempting to scamper out of view. “Birdie, come down here at once,” he instructed.


	2. The First Supper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * (05/17/19) I changed Birdie’s mother’s name from Maria to Marietta.
> 
> * (10/08/19) Major detail/grammar/etc. changes, especially to the end of the chapter. Will require reread.

Her fingers tightened around the banister. She hesitated for a moment, and started her descent down the steps. Watching Louis-Charles and Regulus raise their eyes in her direction made her uneasy.

She found herself frozen again when she stood within a few feet of the strangers. “Bonjour,” Birdie grunted.

It was evident that Regulus wasn’t nearly as interested in her as Louis-Charles, resembling a coyote sizing up its prey – what with his enlarged pupils, heightened stance, drooling teeth. 

Birdie did not scare easily, but she felt goose pimples prickling along her arms and legs as her supposed great-great-uncle licked his lips.

“Birdie, don’t be rude. Introduce yourself properly,” Marietta whispered in her ear.

Sighing, the girl took either side of her skirt and dipped in a stiff curtsey, lowering her head. “How do you do?” she monotoned. “I’m Birdie Liddell.”

“How d’yuh do. I’m sure you overhead – but, as a provision – I am Louis-Charles XVII, and this is Regulus. Come closer, little dove,” Louis-Charles said and opened his arms in invitation.

She approached for an embrace similar to the one she had seen him gift her mother. What she didn’t expect was for Louis-Charles to sweep her off the floor, holding her by the underside of her thighs, and shower her in kisses. “Oh, Birdie! What a pretty little thing you’ve become. I could just eat you up,” he cooed. He punctuated his last statement with a small nip behind her ear, hidden from her parents and Dinah.

As a child, Birdie was no stranger to cuddles with her father, but she noticed a few fair differences between his and her great-great-uncle’s:

Oswald’s face would always be clean-shaven; the harsh stubble of Louis-Charles’ scraped against her cheeks. 

Oswald’s fingertips would never stray from the appropriate areas; Louis-Charles’ squeezed at her hips and calves. 

Oswald’s hug would be welcomed; Louis-Charles’ was completely unwanted.

Finished with his exhibition, he settled Birdie onto his left hipbone – much like a slave would with their own child during picking hours. His neck had grown red from his exertions. “You both ought to be proud of how lovely your darling girl is. Her beauty should be talked about from here to Pittsburgh!” he claimed.

“You say that now, but you’ll see how much of a spitfire our ‘darling girl’ can be!” Marietta snickered, although Birdie wasn’t aware of the joke.

“Mother, I want to go to my room.”

“Hooey, you have got to stay down here with us. I’d like it very much if we got more acquainted, my dear,” said Louis-Charles.

“He is right, Birdie. You can spare a few moments locked in that cave you call a room, and spend some quality time with your family,” her mother agreed. “Louis-Charles is your great-great-uncle, you know. He traveled a long way to see us. The least you can do is talk to him for a while.”

“But—!”

“Now, shall we move to the parlor?” Marietta was already halfway across the foyer out of excitement.

“That’s very kind of you, Marietta. Thank you. We appreciate your hospitality,” Louis-Charles beamed. He adjusted Birdie in his hip and followed his newfound great-niece into the next room, with Regulus and Oswald in tow.

When everyone took their seats on the various plush couches and armchairs, Birdie squirmed in an effort to escape his hold, but was caught tighter around the middle. It was now impossible for her to leave his lap.

She glared at his sweat-stained face, and hissed low enough for him to hear, “You will unhand me at once!” 

And yet, she was met with only a tight-lipped smile and his equally quiet reply of, “Not a chance in Hell, sweetheart.”

Birdie gasped at his response, seething at his gall to cuss in her presence. “Mother—!” she began.

Louis-Charles interrupted, “Would you all like to hear of how Regulus and I scoured the country in search of you?”

“Oh, yes! That would be just lovely.”

 

The passing hours consisted of Louis-Charles, having taken the role of storyteller with ease, stringing one tall tale after another. He had Marietta and Oswald positively captivated.

However, Birdie showed little interest as he spoke of the luxuries in the East Coast. She yawned at the mention of savage natives camping in the mountains. She was more focused on the fact that her great-great-uncle still had not let her get up from his hold, and that Marietta and Oswald were oblivious to her discomfort. 

“My, my! Look at the time, Bridgewater. My poor great-niece and her family must be starved. I’ve been talking well past their supper time,” Louis-Charles cried. He pointed at the towering grandfather clock, which displayed six thirty-seven. 

His partner squinted hard, clearly unable to read it.

“Do not feel too guilty, Oncle. We have thoroughly enjoyed your stories,” Marietta smiled, and then called for the maid. “Dinah, please have supper ready for five instead of three tonight. I would like my great-uncle and his friend to join us. And fetch Lucy so she can show our guests to the washroom. They must be ready to jump out of their skins in this heat.”

Louis-Charles opened his mouth to argue.

“Ah, ah! Come now, Oncle. Don’t give me that look. It’s no trouble at all. We would appreciate it greatly if you and Regulus stay for supper. I insist.”

“Well, how could I say ‘No’ to a pretty face such as yours?” he said, and turned to Birdie. “Or yours?”

For once, Birdie bit down hard on her tongue, but that didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes until they reached the back of her skull. 

Though she would never admit it, her mother was enjoying Birdie’s silence and was going to snag any opportunity to take advantage of it. It was proven true when she said, “On second thought, Birdie, you can show them. You should freshen yourself up as well. Go on now.” 

Birdie was close to point out how Marietta’s dear great-uncle refused to release her from his grasp, but – to her surprise – Louis-Charles loosened his arms around her waist. She hopped up without a second thought. Her eyes darted between the grinning man and her expectant parents. Defeated, she mumbled, “This way.”

 

The two guests were compliant in trailing behind as she trudged up the staircase to the third floor. Neither man made an attempt at conversation with Birdie, for it was a short walk before she wheeled around a corner in the direction of the nearest washroom. She stopped in front of their destination. “Right in there. You’ll find everything you need,” she said. 

“Didn’t your mother also tell you to freshen up?” Louis-Charles inquired.

“Yes, in my own washroom.”

“Now that wouldn’t be fair for us to make you walk all the way to your own washroom when there’s a perfectly good one right here,” he balked. “And we wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“We wouldn’t?” said Regulus.

Birdie sneered, “As generous as that offer sounds, I would much rather use my own. I’m the only one to have a private washroom. You understand, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes. Ladies and their desired privacy. How could I neglect such an afflictin’ detail?”

“Yes. Well, if you would excuse me,” she said and started down the corridor, trying to shake the undeniable feeling of being watched.

 

Eventually, the servants had set the expansive dining table for five plates. A sheer white tablecloth reached from one end to the other. Each dish, cup, and utensil was crafted from the finest porcelain, glass, and metal. A heaping roast waited amongst bowls of cooked vegetables and pitchers filled with alcohol-infused juice. 

Despite the present heat, candles gleamed orange in the darkened hall. The curtains were pulled back to reveal the sun slowly setting beyond the hills.

Having splashed handful after handful of water onto her glowing cheeks, Birdie felt a bit calmer, as she was fully prepared to have a bite to eat and bid farewell to Louis-Charles and Regulus afterward. She took a seat near the middle of the table; Oswald was sitting at the head with Marietta on the opposite; their guests placed themselves directly across from Birdie.

She glanced at Louis-Charles, who was leering at her with his deep cocoa-colored eyes. She noticed that he had cleaned a substantial amount of dirt off his face, and his skin was no longer shining from perspiration. For that, she was thankful because he didn’t quite remind her of a brute anymore. And yet, as he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but feel a bubble of apprehension build in her stomach. 

She chalked it up to hunger.

“This meal looks mighty fine, Marietta. Fit for a king. You spoil your dear uncle,” Louis-Charles hummed.

Her mother giggled and encouraged them to take their share. Soon enough, the five of them were digging into their own plates, some more heavily than others. Birdie sipped her water while the adults sipped their whiskey. There was a comfortable quietude that was occasionally interrupted by the sounds of gnashing teeth, utensils scraping against porcelain, and swallowing.

“So, Birdie, you must have plenty of leisure activities. Especially in a manor such as this and in the midst of summer vacation. What do you like to do in your spare time?” Louis-Charles spoke up after gulping down his drink.

The young girl was almost struck dumb by his question. Not many people were curious about her interests; she was but a spoiled Southern belle with horrible manners – nothing more, nothing less. She quickly steeled herself, and answered, “I don’t like to do anything.”

“Birdie,” Oswald said in warning.

Louis-Charles didn’t appear deterred. The corners of his mouth twitched as though he was fighting a smile. “Come now. You truly don’t find pleasure in anything?”

There was something in the way he spoke that made Birdie’s skin itch. She growled, “I like to sit in the garden and look at the flowers.”

“I was trying to convince her to enroll in piano lessons when you arrived, Oncle,” Marietta interjected. “But she absolutely scorns the idea. She says that children are taught the piano, not ‘grown-ups’ like her. The girl is downright impossible. I think she takes joy in it. Being impossible, I mean.”

Birdie made an attempt at ignoring the conversation at hand by slicing into her piece of roast with more force than needed. Ripping the meat off her fork, she gnashed her teeth and huffed.

“That’s rather funny. I was given lessons on how to play the violin when I was about Birdie’s age. Taught by the finest instructor of New Orleans for three years. I found that performing was a satisfying recreation for a boy of my background. I believe you would fancy the lessons as much as I did, little dove,” said Louis-Charles.

Her resolve was slipping, and the entire table became aware of the firecracker that was ready to pop. Birdie dropped her utensils onto her plate, so vexed that she didn’t hear the loud crash her display caused. “And I believe you should keep that nose of yours out of other people’s business,” she spat. “Especially if you happened to walk into their life just mere hours beforehand.”

Cocking his head to one side, Louis-Charles continued to grin and raised his open palms in mock defeat. He said, “I do apologize, Birdie. I am only trying to get to know you, my beloved great-great-niece, better. I thought that it would possible to have shared enthusiasm for—”

“It would be wise to end any and all thoughts that involve you and I sharing anything more than a civil handshake!”

Marietta exclaimed, “Birdie Antonia!”

“I think it’s past her bedtime,” her father prompted.

“Oh, yes, that reminds me. Where are the two of you staying for the time being?”

The men looked at each other, and then at her parents as though the answer was obvious. “Nowhere,” Regulus grunted. 

“What he means is,” Louis-Charles jumped. “I had been so enveloped in the thought of meeting the last remaining family I have that I had not taken the prospect of a place to stay into consideration.”

Marietta clutched her heart at her great-uncle’s current living situation, or lack thereof. She pushed, “Then I will have rooms arranged for you immediately! No relative of mine is going to spend their nights sleeping on the cold ground like a beggar.”

“I agree. That wouldn’t be in good conscience on our parts,” said Oswald.  
“Dinah, can you have two rooms prepared for our guests? And bring their luggage as well. Oncle can have Pearl and Tallulah’s old bedroom, and Regulus can have Marie and Annabelle’s. As fast as you can, please.”

“Of course, Lord Liddell.”

Their guests jolted to a stand, all but ran to Marietta and Oswald, and grabbed their hands in thanks. “Oh, I am blessed to belong to a family as kind and giving as you! Oh, Marietta! Oh, Oswald! How could we ever repay you for your generosity?” Louis-Charles cried, practically on the verge of tears.

Halting the exchange of sentiments, Birdie leapt to her feet and knocked her chair backwards. She screeched, “This is lunacy! Are you going to hand them the entire manor tomorrow? And the deed to the property the day after that?”

“Birdie, please. Have you no heart?” her mother choked.

Oswald, a generally peaceful man of God, pulled his napkin from his lap and slapped it onto the table. “Young lady, I want you to wish your uncle and Regulus ‘Goodnight’ and go to the nursery at once,” he snarled like a dog.

“I would rather cut off my own tongue!”

She sprinted from the dining hall. After a brief scuttle up the two arched staircases, she made it to her bedroom and slammed the door shut, tuning out the sounds of her agitated parents and supposed great-great-uncle.

Birdie collapsed onto her mattress and vowed that she would raise Hell on earth for her parents allowing those men to set foot on their estate.


	3. The Washroom

Sleep had arrived with ease. 

Remaining in said sleep had been a struggle, for Birdie was tossing and turning, trying in vain to drown out her family’s voices and quiet her own mind just long enough for dreams to overtake her. Out of all the swimming thoughts, however, the most bothersome one was that Louis-Charles – or whatever his real name was – was not her great-great-uncle.

After her fifth attempt, she finally gave up. She inhaled a big, watery breath while tears dripped down her nose, onto the thick duvet. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “No use in crying about it,” she mumbled to no one in particular. 

Birdie didn’t notice how long she simply laid in bed with her legs dangling off the edge, glaring daggers at the ceiling, until she heard her door creak open. Propping herself up by the elbows, she saw Athaliah peeking in.

Athaliah was the oldest maid in the Liddell manor. At ninety years old, she was by far Birdie’s personal favorite. Her combination of a brusque attitude and a nurturing touch was a welcomed addition to Birdie’s day-to-day life. “Good Lord, child, how are you still layin’ in bed? It’s a quarter past eight o’clock,” she squawked. 

A headache from the previous night’s exertions was thumping queasily behind Birdie’s temples. She rolled over onto her stomach and groaned, “Let me be, Athaliah. I had a terrible night.”

“Come on now. It’s a brand new day. Walk yourself on over to your washroom an’ then have some breakfast. I need to change your sheets.”

She had been lost in her head for so long that she nearly forgot how to stand. But she did as the maid said, and dragged herself out of her bed. She crossed the nursery and approached the door that led to the adjoining washroom, her spirits steadily rising at the promise of a warm soak. Eager, Birdie entered and locked the door in a cinch.

Her zeal was extinguished once she came face to face with Louis-Charles. 

He was lounging quite comfortably in her copper tub. He seemed to be the epitome of relaxation; the near-overwhelming scent of soap surrounded him, and bubbles floated about in the air and piled in his lap like a white blanket. “Ah, good morning, my sweet niece!” he greeted.

Stuck in front of the door, gripping the knob and staring, she fell silent and, in a way, entirely shut down. Part of her wanted to run and find comfort in her mother’s embrace at the sight of a man in her private washroom, and the other, colder part of her wanted to attack. 

“What on God’s green Earth are you doing in here?” she spluttered through a hanging jaw, careful to keep her voice low as to not alarm Athaliah in the next room. If she showed any indication of her current situation, she would have been asking for a lengthy beating, even though the situation involved a man claiming to be her great-great-uncle.

“My dear, is that any way to talk to family? Especially after your little performance last night?” he replied.

Birdie rushed forward, stomping as she did so, and opened her mouth to hiss in response. But she stopped. She noticed how his face was now devoid of any stubble. And how his dark hair was sopping wet, flattened against his scalp and close to reaching the column of his throat. And how his tanned skin – at least, from what she was able to see – was turning pink and glistening from the heat. And how, if she stared long enough, his abdomen had a patch of hair that led down below the water’s surface.

She blinked.

In her fifteen years of life, she had never seen a man without his shirt on, in-person, up-close. Her father had made it a regularity to dress himself in a robe immediately after his daily soak to save his daughters from mortification. Even the slaves in the cotton field had wore their sweat-soaked garments in her presence.

She ignored the dizziness that began to grow in her belly and growled, “I will talk to you however I like while you are in my washroom. So I’ll ask again. What are you doing in here?”

Louis-Charles hummed to himself as he scrubbed her bar of lavender soap over his biceps. He was acting far too casual and content for her liking. “Seeing as your lovely home has three washrooms, and two are currently in use, your magnanimous parents have granted me permission to use yours,” he supplied. “They assured me that you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, but I do! Very much!”

“Now, Birdie, do try to be civil,” he clicked his tongue. He cupped his right hand, splashed his left arm to wash away any excess suds, and repeated for the opposite arm. His carelessness left a puddle on the floorboards. When he was finished, he rested the back of his head against the lip of the tub. and sank further into the depths of foam with a pleased smirk, “Be that as it may, you are more than welcome to join me. I’d be glad to help you.”

She suddenly became aware of her nightgown, despite the decorative cloth covering any and every instance of inappropriate flesh. Under Louis-Charles’ heated gaze, Birdie was utterly naked. She curled into herself. “I beg your pardon? I’m old enough to wash myself,” she said.

“An’ how old is that? In all of yesternight’s excitement, your mother failed to mention your age.”

“I turned fifteen this past March.”

“Fifteen,” he echoed, pursing his lips. “My, my. We must be nearing the time of countless suitors and wedding arrangements, correct?”

“No, I want nothing to do with any of that. And no one can make me change my mind. In case it hasn't registered by now, I spurn anything I’m told, and being carted off to man I hardly know to be his wife is no exception.”

“We shall wait and see, I suppose.”

Her nerves felt smothered in ice. She furrowed her brows and tried to look him in the eye, but was distracted by the flush of his cheeks. She bristled and changed the subject, “Are you finished yet? I would like to use my bathtub since this is my washroom.”

“Would you like me to finish?” Louis-Charles grinned wolfishly. He straightened himself against the side of the tub, creating sizable waves around his ribcage. Nevertheless, he made no move to leave.

“I would like you to get out this instant!” Birdie stamped her foot as emphasis.

“I see. Well, if you insist,” he said before bracing his hands on the tub’s brim and pushing himself to a stand.

Birdie shrieked, shielding her eyes and spinning on her bare heels. Her face burned red hot as the blood beneath her skin boiled to a summit. She was relieved to have reacted so quickly; the poor girl was a half of a second away from seeing a man in the nude. “How dare you! How dare you try to expose yourself to me. Just wait until Mother hears about this. She’ll have you and your friend thrown out in a heartbeat,” she whimpered.

A couple of splashes told Birdie that Louis-Charles was climbing out of the tub. He padded towards her vanity and dried himself off with one of her downy cotton towels. “I don’t doubt that you’d go scampering off to your mother,” he mused, his voice eerily soothing. “But I have this funny feeling she wouldn’t believe anything you say. Why, I reckon she would easily take my word against yours. Grown-ups, you know. Always taking the wrong sides,” he crooned, shucking on a maroon bathrobe.

She found herself rooted to the spot as Louis-Charles loomed behind her. She felt his hand cup her trembling shoulder. His sleeve was cold on her back, whereas his open palm sent a fiery blaze down her arm. She craned her neck to the side when he leaned in close.

Gently, he took the girl’s chin between his fingers and forced her eyes to meet his. He continued, “Of course, you did barge in here, unannounced. And you’ve had every opportunity to leave, but you still choose to stay. Anyone would find that rather disturbing, don’t you think? What will Lord and Lady Liddell say when I tell them you were spying on me in the bath?”

Birdie gasped, “That’s not true—!”

“You and I both know that. But your parents may be harder to persuade. Do you want to take that chance?” he challenged. His calloused thumb rubbed back and forth near her lower lip.

“No.”

“Good girl. Now, give us a kiss.”

“Release me!” she wailed. She swiped at his hand and dug deep into the flesh. Blood spewed, sprinkling across the floor, her nightgown and his bathrobe, his wrist, and beneath her fingernails. She watched Louis-Charles hunch over, his face twisted in pain, and clutch at his injured hand.

He yelped, “Argh, you petulant brat!”

Smiling triumphantly, Birdie ran to the door and wrenched it wide open. “Let this be a lesson, Oncle!” she sneered. She escaped into the corridor with not a moment to spare.


End file.
